“Lucy, are you feeling all right?” He asked concernedly. He took the first step toward the stairs, and met the restraining hand of McClintock. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified.
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